Morning in Oakhaven did not bring warmth. It brought thinning mist and a pale stretch of sunlight filtering through the clouded glass windows of the inn's lower floor.
Kaelen descended from his room with heavy steps. His gray cloak already rested across his shoulders, prepared for a journey even he did not know how to finish.
In the tavern area, Sienna was ready. A thick brown wool cloak hung from her slender frame, its frayed edges betraying years of use. Her large eyes did not settle on Kaelen but on the two empty baskets placed near the wooden door.
"Ah, Master Vane, thank goodness you're awake," Grandmother Celia called from the kitchen, emerging as she wiped her damp hands against her apron. Fine lines creased her worried face. "Sienna needs to go to the village market for our weekly supplies. The items are rather heavy today. Would you mind accompanying her? Your breakfast and coffee will be on the house."
Kaelen looked at Celia, then at Sienna, who stood still as stone. She did not plead. She did not protest. She simply waited for his decision.
He released a quiet breath—not from irritation, but from the realization that he had no real reason to refuse. Oakhaven was hardly welcoming to a traveler eager to leave in haste.
He gave a short nod and moved toward the door, opening it first.
Sienna watched his back for a moment, a flicker of quiet surprise passing through her eyes. Then she gathered the baskets and followed him outside.
The narrow path to the market was damp and muddied from snow that melted by day and froze again at night. Sienna walked ahead with careful, measured steps, avoiding puddles with an agility that seemed at odds with her fragile appearance.
Kaelen followed behind, his stride heavier. His sharp gaze scanned their surroundings, though it occasionally lingered on Sienna's back.
They walked in silence.
The noise of the village—clucking chickens, the distant ring of hammer against metal, murmured conversations—felt distant, as though Kaelen moved inside a chamber sealed by the presence of the girl before him.
He watched how Sienna moved through the world. The villagers did not speak to her in words. They nodded. They gestured. She responded with her eyes, as though she could hear what remained unspoken.
When they reached the market, the hush fractured into movement and sound. Sienna wove between stalls of spices and vegetables, pointing to bundles of greens and a sack of salt without uttering a word. Kaelen stood behind her, receiving the items and placing them into the baskets.
Then, amid the bustle, Sienna suddenly stopped.
She stood before a stall that sold equipment for climbers and hunters. Thick leather boots hung from hooks. Coils of sturdy rope lay stacked beside heavy fur-lined cloaks meant to withstand the mountain's cruelest storms.
She did not touch them.
She only stared.
It was the same look she had worn beneath the oak the night before—longing sharpened into something that bordered on obsession.
From the corner of his eye, Kaelen understood.
The voiceless girl did not merely wish to see her father. She was preparing for something the villagers deemed impossible.
The day's purchases were substantial. Beyond vegetables, they still needed wheat.
"Wait here," Kaelen said quietly before moving toward the grain warehouse at the far edge of the market.
Sienna watched him, puzzled, her hands tightening around the baskets. Moments later, he returned with a large sack of wheat slung over his right shoulder. The muscles along his neck tensed beneath the weight, yet his expression remained unreadable.
"Let's go."
Sienna blinked, then quickly adjusted, taking full control of the lighter baskets so he could bear the heavier load.
On the walk back to the inn, she glanced at him more than once. Gratitude flickered in her eyes—silent, but unmistakable.
Near the village gate, she stopped abruptly.
Her posture stiffened. She did not look forward, but something in her expression shifted—alert, listening.
Kaelen followed her gaze toward a narrow alley off the road.
A few seconds later, a drunken man stumbled out, reeking of cheap alcohol and sweat. He muttered incoherently as he lurched toward the street.
Sienna shrank slightly, her shoulders drawing inward. The coarse voice and suffocating scent seemed to wound her more than merely disturb her.
Without being asked, Kaelen stepped to the side, placing his broad frame between her and the drunkard. The cold edge in his posture and the sharpness of his gaze were enough.
The man faltered, swallowed his words, and retreated down the road with unsteady steps.
Sienna stared at Kaelen's back.
An unfamiliar tremor stirred in her chest—a sense of safety she had not felt from a man in a very long time.
When they returned to the inn, Kaelen lowered the sack of wheat onto the kitchen floor with a heavy thud. Grandmother Celia greeted them at once.
"Thank you, Master Vane. You've been a great help," she said sincerely, setting down a steaming bowl of thick soup and a piece of warm bread on the tavern table.
Kaelen sat and ate in silence. From time to time, his gaze drifted toward Sienna, who had already resumed her place behind the counter, polishing glasses as though the heavy morning had never happened.
"Sienna! Stop for a moment. Eat first!" Celia called.
Sienna turned, offering her grandmother a small smile before shaking her head gently. She pointed toward the window—toward the peak of Shadow's Edge now swallowed in gray clouds.
Then she returned to her work, calm in a way that almost haunted the room.
Kaelen finished his bitter coffee. As he rose to return to his room, he passed beside her.
His steps slowed.
"The climbing boots at the market…" His voice was low, nearly lost beneath the wind brushing against the walls. "They're too large for your small feet. You'd fall before reaching the mountain's base."
Sienna froze.
The glass in her hand nearly slipped from her grasp. She looked up, wide brown eyes filled with pure shock.
Kaelen did not wait for any answer. He continued up the creaking wooden stairs, leaving her behind—still standing there, watching the back of the mysterious man who seemed to see far more than he should.